The minutes dragged along, until an hour had passed. Frequently he started up to listen, while his blood bounded through his veins with increased speed. Each time, however, he discovered that his alarm was founded on trifles. Once it was caused by some men passing the boathouse, and talking. Again the rats playing at tag in between the inner and outer walls of the building gave him a fright.
Buster consulted his clock as many as five times in that hour. He had never known time to hang as heavily on his hands as now. The light had been put out, so that what came through one of the windows was all the illumination he had whenever he lifted up the alarm clock to scan its white face.
"Gee! this is awful!" he groaned, as he realized that still half an hour remained of his first watch.
Then again he sat up straight, while his hand trembled as he reached out for the novel weapon with which he had provided himself.
Surely he had heard some one brushing along the outside of the building! Gaining his feet he silently crept over to the window and peered out. Lights could be seen here and there, for Columbia boasted of an electric plant, and arc lights adorned numerous street corners.
The voices grew in volume, and Buster's confidence increased. If these unseen persons had dark designs on the boathouse they would never allow their tones that latitude.
"Some fellows in a power-boat come to town to see the races to-morrow, and hunting for Jones' boat yard," was the conclusion he soon reached.
Finally the time was up. The alarm went off with a whirr, and Bones raised his head to say:
"All right, dad, I'm coming," after which he snuggled down again with a chuckle.
Buster took hold of him by the collar of his coat, and yanked him out on the floor.